


Petals of Amber

by SilverRoseofLight



Series: Second Chances [2]
Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Death of the Individual, Gen, Guertena's creations are one big happy (sorta dysfunctional) family, Ib - Freeform, Ib and Mary are only mentioned., Lady in red, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Takes place decades in the future, Together Forever ending, mannequins, paintings, saving Garry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRoseofLight/pseuds/SilverRoseofLight
Summary: Garry saved Ib, so she will save Garry. It's a simple concept to Iden. Friend for a friend, life for a life, rose for a rose. There's not much to go back to anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

Iden cuddled her stuffed rabbit as she leaned into her bed.

"We're going away soon, Pet."

The ironically rose-colored Petunia was large enough to be a pillow and as big as Iden's head. A well-loved toy it was, having been Iden's fluffy companion for three years since her ninth birthday.

Iden ran her fingers through Petunia's fur as spoke. "Grandma's going to. . ." she bit her lip ". . .to sleep. When she does, we'll have to go back to Mom's." She turned the ball of fuzz around so its red glass eyes faced her. "You weren't with me then, were you? Hmm, Mom is. . . pretty. Her eyes are a deep, deep blue. . .like the ocean. She has doll hair, long and straight and glossy. She sounds nice, right?"

Petunia nodded with the help of a little shake.

"Oh but she isn't." With the tone she used, Iden might as well as have said she was a monster. "She didn't like me very much, because she didn't like having to take care of me. So Grandma Ib took me away. She took care of me, and hugged me, and told me stories, and took me to that gallery! She gave me nice things too. Dresses, dolls, sweets, treats, books, paints, and you," she said, tapping her plush's pink nose. Her small smile faded. "But when she's d-asleep, she can't do those things anymore. I'm going to miss her. . ."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I wish Grand-Aunt Mary was still around. If she was, we could still stay here. But she's already sleeping. . .I miss Garry too. We haven't gone to the gallery since Grandma got sick, you know? I wonder if he's doing okay. Hmm? I know he's a painting, but he seems so. . .real. Like he really heard me. He definitely felt realer than you, Petunia. No offense. . ."

Iden bolted up. "That's enough sad stuff for tonight," she said, forcing a smile. "Grandma gave me a gift earlier, wanna see?" 

The girl lifted a small black case from the table beside her. She opened it the way one would an eyeglass case, revealing a gem-studded barrette. A detailed amber rose was in the silver clip's center while emerald leaves and vines crept over the rest of it. "It's pretty, isn't it? She said that it's my birthday gift. And look!" She lifted folded handkerchief laying at the bottom of it. She spread it out, _Iden_ was stitched at its corner in neat, elegant script. "My name's on it, like the one she gave Garry in her story!"

As she held the lace in her hands, she sighed. "I wish I could give Garry mine too. Then he'd know that someone else cares about him . . . how long has it been since I saw him?" She frowned. "I want to visit, I really do, but I don't want to go without Grandma. . .wait a minute." Her eyes lit up with realization. "Silly me," she mumbled to herself, "I forgot about Grandma's book!" 

She hurried out and stopped outside her grandmother's room. She snuck in, quiet as a mouse, and crept to the bedside table. Among the pills and flowers lay a brand new copy of _Fabricated World: A Complete Collection of the Works of Weiss Guertena._ Ib had bought it last week and had been keeping it near ever since, a comfort due to her worsening condition making visits to the Guertena gallery more and more difficult. Iden never tried asking for it before - her grandmother spent so much time with it that taking it away would make her feel as if she had snatched a child's favorite toy. But Ib was sleeping, the kind she could- she _would_ still wake up from, so it would be fine if she borrowed it, right? 

Iden gingerly lifted the large book, careful not to send any pill sheets falling to the floor. The foil wrapping them was so crinkly that it would be sure to wake Ib if she made even one fall.

"I'm just going to borrow this for a moment," she whispered once the book was in her hands. "I promise I'll return it soon as I'm done. Thanks again for the gifts, Grandma."

When she was back in her room, she flipped it until seeing a familiar face. She smiled. 

"Hi Garry."

~ ~ ~

_Hi Garry._

The words were soft. Much, much softer than they were would have been had they been said to his actual painting, but audible nonetheless. Well, that is if he focused and the paintings and statues outside his room would stop fighting.He ignored the yells of Ladies and mannequins and focused on the voice. 

"Hello, Iden," he said with a small smile. Ib had been the one talking to him recently, and as much as he enjoyed his friend's company, hearing her granddaughter's voice was a pleasant change. . .(and distraction from her grandmother's illness.) 

_It's been a while since I talked to you._ she began.Then paused. _Well. . . um, I don't know if this really counts, or if you can even hear me if I'm using this. . .but I can't just go to the gallery while Grandma's in bed, that would be unfair._

"It would, wouldn't it?" he sighed. "Still, I think she wouldn't mind. . ." He certainly wouldn't. 

_But back to what I wanted to tell you, Grandma gave me my birthday gifts early!_

"Birthday gifts?" Garry leaned back and closed his eyes. "Ah yes, she told me about them."  

_She gave me this really pretty hair clip. It has a rose on it, I think it's made of amber. It has tiny vines and leaves too, of emerald, I think. I really like it!_

"Beautiful, isn't it? I'm sure it would look lovely when you wear it, with the rose matching your eyes and all."

 _She gave me something else too!_ she said brightly, _It's a handkerchief with my name on it, like the one she gave you._

Garry pulled out said handkerchief from his pocket. _Ib_ was stitched at its corner in red. He imagined it saying _Iden_ instead, and that it was in burnt orange, as Ib had described it to him weeks prior.

_I wish I could you mine. Then you'd have something to remember me by too!_

"That's very sweet of you Iden. I'd gladly take it if I could, though you can be certain that I'll remember you even without it."

 _You'd have two of them then_ , she continued. A soft giggle. _Like a collection of some sort. . ._

He raised an eyebrow amusedly. "Rather small to be called a collection, wouldn't it?"

_. . .that would be a really small collection though._

He chuckled. "Still, I'd like it."

They chatted some more, or rather, Iden spoke and Garry commented. Neither heard anything the other said, but both felt an odd sense of comfort in speaking. 

_I should really give this back to Grandma,_ Iden said. _She might worry if she wakes up and this isn't there. I'd hate it if I upset her. Thanks a lot for listening to me. Bye, Garry_

"And thank you for talking to me," the painting replied. He smiled sadly. "Well, goodbye Iden, get some rest."

He heard the soft thump of a closing book and sighed.

"-being such a clumsy oaf!"

"Me? Clumsy?! If you weren't so bulky-!"

"Bulky? Ha! Ever looked in a mirror?"

Garry's eyes snapped open in a glare. He got up from where he had been leaning against the wall and walked briskly towards the exit of his frame. He emerged in the large gray room where several Ladies and mannequins lived. In front of him a Lady in Red and a red Death of the Individual were yelling at each other, each one with their respective paintings or statues behind them. 

"What is going on?" 

The gallery's denizens turned to him, painted faces turning chalky white and mannequins turning rigid as if their joints became stuck. Nobody dared speak.

Ever since Garry became one of them, the artworks stopped trying to maim him. He, in turn, eventually learned that when not chasing humans, Guertena's creations acted like one big (if dysfunctional) family. And like all families, they tended to argue about the smallest, most insignificant things, such as what particular shade of yellow or green or gray or whatever the room they were in was. It was truly ridiculous beyond all accounts, be the yelling driven by boredom or not.

Mary might have joined them in such heated conversations, but Garry -mild-mannered as he was- simply didn't have enough patience to tolerate thirty minutes of how prettier a Lady in Green was to a Lady in Blue. He had snapped and reminded the Ladies that they were all identical and that there was no point in their argument. The outburst from the soft-spoken man stunned the two and the nearby artworks into silence. After that particular incident, the gallery's inhabitants often tried(and failed) to keep their voices down. Garry attributed their fear to him having taken Mary's place and how they probably had to endure temper tantrums from the painting-girl. . . though how the said Ladies ending up dusty and with scuffed frames from **him** a day after his scolding probably had to do with it too. In any case, they listened to him, and Garry would be a fool to let them yell nonsense on a day to day basis as long as he was still listening for someone in the real world.

"Well? Isn't anyone going to explain?" His voice was sharp. "You two were whole-heartedly screaming earlier."

A scraping sound alerted all to a mannequin head nearby. Red paint trailed down bone-white ceramic cheeks and onto the floor, spelling out words in drippy but legible letters:

**MANNEQUIN TRIPPED ON PAINTING AGAIN**

After about ten seconds, the paint turned to thick red mist that was sucked back into the mannequin head through its eyes.

"Erm, thank you," Garry said, still slightly unnerved by the heads' method of communication. He turned back to the red-clad pieces of art and took a deep breath. "Alright, let's just stop this before it gets out of hand and goes on for a week like last time, shall we?" 

Red eyes met angled neck stump, each waiting expectantly.

Garry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did he have to be the only voice of reason in this cursed place? "Fine. I doubt that either of you is going to apologize first, so how about this? I'll count to three, then you both say sorry. One, two-"

"Sorry!" grumbled both parties in unison. 

"Good, now that that's settled, there's no need to start yelling again, _right_?"

Two stiff, reluctant nods followed.

Garry turned a one-eighty and was about to climb back in when he heard the disembodied voice of a headless statue whisper-yell, "Ha! You said it a split second before I did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Well, _I_ say you said it-"

The words died when Garry glanced back. He shot a stern look towards the Lady in Red, then the mannequin for good measure, then placed his index finger before his lips in a clear shush. Then he lifted himself back into his painting.

He slumped back against the wall and shut his eyes. It was much better now that it was peaceful again. Hmm, what to do? Ib and Iden were asleep, he didn't feel like redoing puzzles or reading. There wasn't much to do other than wait. . .

The sudden sound of words stamped beside him on the wall made him turn his head the other way. He might be bored but he did _not_ want to deal with **him** today. 

Another stamp.

He blocked out the noise. . .on second thought, it might be about the shushing of the paintings, and as annoying as they could be, he didn't really want to have any more of them injured. 

Another stamp.

 **He** was feeling particularly stubborn about it today, wasn't **he**?

More stamps in succession. Then a mist began to form-

"Okay, okay!" Garry snapped. "Just don't do the _thing_!"

The blur dissipated.

He stood and read the words now on his wall:  


**Did they upset you?**

**Do you want me to hurt them?**

**Please read this.**

**Please look.**

**If you don't I'll do what I usually do.**

**Please look.**

**I'll have to ask you verbally if you don't, and I know you won't like it.**

**I'm sorry if I upset you with what I'm about to do.**

Garry glared at the seemingly empty space beside him where **he** probably stood. "I've told you already, just because I get upset doesn't mean I want them hurt! Why do you always have to ask me this?"

Another stamp. **Because you might have changed your mind.**

"I'm not that indecisive!"

**Mary said that too, but she was.**

Garry tugged his hair. "I am not Mary!"

There was a pause, then, **I know, I'm sorry. I'm still not used to you.**

Garry groaned. "Why can't you leave me alone again?"

**~~IcantIdontknow~~ I'm not sure. I just know you took Mary's place-**

The painting turned away from the rest of the sentence and slumped against the wall again. "-and now you want to help me," he finished for **him**. "And in the most violent ways possible," he added under his breath. Garry ignored the sound of more stamps, deciding that **he** had the answers **he** needed to not go about smiting artworks.

When Garry glanced back at the wall hours later, the only words there were: **I'm sorry I bothered you again, I'll leave you alone now.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason why Garry doesn't like **him**.  
>  **He** appears in the game.  
>  I like thinking that the paintings each have a pocket-dimensionish room inside their frames.


	2. Chapter 2

Garry was used to the wait between conversations.

Ib and Mary had to deal with life, after all. Days, weeks, he could even live with a month or two of silence.Three months once, between Ib notifying him of Mary's death and speaking again when she had a proper grip on herself. But after half a year? And with Ib's condition? He pretty much resigned himself to the fact that his friend was no longer around. But weeks went on, and he couldn't help but worry about Iden. Surely she would have done _something_ to alert him, right?

He started becoming. . .agitated, and to lessen the scoldings to both the paintings and **him** , he moved his frame to the room that held _Untitled_. Besides, it was quieter here, he reasoned. If Iden spoke up, he'd hear it immediately.

Another month passed by, and he found himself rereading the books in the room for the fourth time since he moved in. He had known the day would come, hadn't he? When he'd truly be the _Forgotten Portrait_? He just. . .didnt expect it so soon. The paintings visited him sometimes. Mannequins too. They were getting concerned, and so was **he**.

 **Just go back to the room, he** advised, **They've been quiet for a while now. I didn't do anything to them either, I swear. I don't think isolation is good for humans.**

Garry chose to ignore **him** in favor of contemplating whether _Untitled_ was the title or if the piece was simply untitled.

When he finally did hear Iden again, it had been eight months, two weeks, and a day since their last conversation, and he pressed his hand against his painting, eyes wide in disbelief. Not because she had finally spoken to him again or because she came before his actual painting in the Guertena exhibit, but because she looked terrible. Thin-faced and skinnier than remembered, and with dark eyes as well, he couldn't help but be worried.

"Oh Iden," he murmured, still trying to process the sight. "What happened to you?"

She gave him a small, sweet smile as she greeted him.

"Hi Garry."

~ ~ ~

Ib was always there.

When Iden was sad or angry or hurt, Ib was there to comfort her. When she was particularly happy, Ib would join her. When she was curious about anything at all, Ib would tell her the answer. Her grandmother was always there, no matter what. Even bedridden, Iden could see the smallest smile on her lips and the frowns. The weakest squeeze of her hand. An attempt to laugh or huff between shallow breaths. She was still there.

She understood the nurses when they told her that Ib was gone, yet she didn't. Because when Grand-Aunt Mary stopped waking up, her joy never left. The jokes she left behind still existed. The little quirks were still there in her actions. Iden still talked to her dolls and the paintings as she did with Mary. In the winter, she could still feel the aged hands wrapped around her small ones, helping her gather up fresh snow to dribble syrup on.

The dull tone of the heart monitor going flat, the doctor talking to her gently and solemnly, even the sight of Ib, all dressed up and pale before she was lowered into the earth didn't make it sink in. No, what made her realize Ib was gone was her mother.

Isabelle wasn't as neglectful as Iden remembered, but that didn't mean she was a good mother. She had prepared a room and enrolled her daughter in a school with all the books and supplies needed, but not much else. As far as Isabelle was concerned, as long as Iden was alive, she was doing fine. Their longest conversations were over how much of Iden's weekly funds were left and whether she needed it to be replenished. They didn't talk about Ib, or school, or life, or dolls. There were no goodnights or goodbyes. No gifts or hugs. To put it simply, there was no love. 

And with nothing to distract her, it sank in.

Ib was gone and Iden was lonely. She didn't have many friends to begin with, and now that she was in a whole new environment, she had none. She tried half-heartedly the first day, putting on a polite smile and happy attitude, but it's hard to make friends when having such strange, unnaturally-colored eyes. They started rumors and whispered behind her back within the week, and she gave up by the end of the second.

Petunia was the closest thing she had to a friend by this point, being the only doll Iden hadn't been able to part with when moving, and her deaf, stuffed ears were the only ones that Iden shared her thoughts to. Thoughts of how she missed home and familily. Of wishes for friends and the gallery. Of regret for not being able to find the art book with Garry in time. Her heart hurt, and she decided that she would do something about it. 

There was always a little money from her allowance left over at the end of the week. Some spare change, a bill or two if she was thrifty. The route to Ib's town was several bus rides away, and over half a day of travel. It would take time, but she'd be able to go home for a while and see Garry if she set aside enough. 

If she stopped buying the sweets she liked, or if she had to use pencils until they were little stubs, who would care? If she'd get thinner from buying crackers instead of meals for lunch, nobody would notice. It wasn't like she was going to grow anymore anyway. And bit by bit, she got enough money for what she began to call her little holiday.

Iden was careful never to make her mother suspicious. She didn't ask for more money any oftener than before she made her plan, but she would take the change Isabelle left on the counter when she was distracted, and a bill or two every other week from her purse while she slept or had one too many drinks to notice. 

Slowly, the stash grew, and she finally, _finally_ got enough for her trip. She set off on the beginning of a three-day weekend, and blessed the name of whoever died or did something else notable to cause a holiday.

The trip was long and tiring, and some people looked at her more than she would have liked, but she wasn't scared. She wore a uniform to look like a student heading to school, and if they found it a little weird that she was doing so on a Saturday, they didn't ask. They had their own lives and their own problems, and if any of them would try getting touchy, well, Mary hadn't taught her how to use a pocket knife for nothing.

When she arrived that night, Ib's house was just as it was left. The curtains were still daintily tied back behind dusty glass panes like a dollhouse. The rose bushes were still oddly healthy, which she summed up to the regular showers that hit the area or a nice neighbor. The key was still in a hidden compartment in the mailbox. 

The first thing she did when she entered was unzip her backpack and free Petunia.

"Sorry, Pet," she said, patting the rabbit back into shape. She carried her up to her bedroom and made her a nest out of her bedsheets like she used to. "Sorry about the dust too, but there's no point in washing it if we're not staying long."

Iden left the bunny buried in a blanket-burrow and went to search for the artbook. While doing so, she asked the nearby dolls if they had seen it out of habit, ano dusted them off despite their silence before moving on. A tin of her favorite long-lasting orange hard candies was discovered on a shelf, and a marble in the corner of a room, and the shards of a teacup she had accidentally broken still lay hidden beneath a thick rug. She stuffed the tin and marble in her bag and swept the shards away. She eventually found the book in Ib's room, set right beside a picture of Ib and Mary and her when they were out on a picnic. Oh, that explained why she couldn't find it that day - she had hesitated and put off entering Ib's room out of respect, and she lost the chance to check soon afterwards when she was dragged into the car to move into the city. She carefully took both the picture and the book, wiped the dust off both, then placed them in her room. Deciding that the book might bent out of shape and the frame might break in her bag if she'd squeezed Petunia in after them, so she resolved to carry the stuffed rabbit in her arms. It would cause a few more stares, but that was something she was used to.

She had a rice ball and a juice box bought earlier from a convenience store for dinner, and popped one of the orange candies in her mouth for dessert. She fell asleep curled up in her bed, with Petunia beside her and a smile on her face from finally being home.

Iden woke up early the next day to visit Ib and Mary.

She took a shower and dressed up in some clothes that were left behind: black leggings, an orange knee-length dress with pockets, and a beige coat -she really hadn't grown since she last lived in the house and all fit perfectly. When she was done, she donned her bag with Petunia in her arms and headed off.

Roses bloomed prettily over their graves, red for Ib, yellow for Mary.

She talked to them for a while, about how she missed them and how her life was, then with a kiss to the largest rose on each grave, told them she'd return after visiting Garry.

Iden spent the walk to the gallery wondering how he would react to her visit. She was sure he'd be surprised - she hadn't used the art book after all. It would be a nice, and she'd tell him about finding the book so neither of them would have to be so lonely anymore. She hoped he wouldn't be angry at her for not trying earlier.

The receptionist was still the same. She smiled and waved to Iden, remembering how the museum curator had given the girl and her grandmother unlimited free entry due to their constant trips to the exhibit. She asked the guards, also familiar to Iden, to watch her and make sure no one would harass her for doing something as innocent as carrying a large stuffed bunny (which, in all honesty, the museum staff found cute) or talking to the artworks. 

Iden hurried up to Garry's portrait with a skip in her step. She couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face.

"Hi Garry," she said, not knowing what else to say. It had been so long. . .what was the last thing they chatted about? Was it a book? Ib's condition? The buds that were coming along on the house's garden?

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she started. "I. . .I . ." she let out an awkward laugh," I'm. . .not really sure what to say right now. I'm happy, I guess. I'm really happy that I could see you again. Oh, and I found the artbook, so I can talk to you again when I go home! It's been uh, it's been a long year. I haven't been able to visit because well, my mom took me to the city since Grandma . . ." Her gaze dropped. "I'm sorry. I couldn't really tell you until now, but Grandma's. . .she's at peace. She's sleeping beside Grand-aunt Mary, and they both have these really lovely roses over them. . ."

She plastered a more cheerful expression on her face. "So yeah. . . I moved to live with Isabelle. My mom - she's not as bad anymore. I mean, she still doesn't really care but she takes care of me. . .sort of. She gives me money to buy whatever I need, but she doesn't check what I use it for. That's good, because she never found out that I was saving money to get here. It was a bit of a problem saving enough, but I don't each much anyway, so that helped."

She spoke on, moving to other topics, completely oblivious to how  _The Forgotten Portrait_ seemed to grimace in his sleep.

~ ~ ~

Garry was pulling at his hair, eyes wide in frustration and stress. He had a feeling that one if them might even be twitching. He was glad that he had moved to a more isolated place, because he was definitely being much louder than any of the artworks right then.

"Iden, I do _not_  approve of this! I do _not approve!"_

She _starved_ herself. That crazy little girl starved herself for who-knows-how long just to pay him a visit. Even indirectly, he caused her to be so malnourished.

"Ib wouldn't approve either! Neither would Mary! What would they say if they saw you like this?!"

They wouldn't be happy, that was certain. He was sure they'd be horrified. 

"You're barely a teenager, Iden! You need to eat your meals and grow! Instant noodles and rice crackers are not meals!"Garry paced the room, grip tightening on his locks. "And you traveled here _alone_?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You could've been kidnapped, or killed, or _worse_!"

So many possibilities, so many ways this sweet kid could've gotten hurt, and all for some stupid visit to him! He shouldn't have wished to see her so badly -he should've thought it through and realized what she'd have to endure to get to the gallery.

"Do you even understand what I'm saying, Iden?!"

The girl probably would have, if she could actually hear him. But as it was, this was a one-sided conversation and she was still going on about the tin of orange candies she had found in her old house.

Then as he kept pacing the room, his actions becoming more and more frantic, it hit him. _She would come back._ If Iden got home in one piece, there was nothing stopping her from returning and taking the dangerous trip again. There was also nothing to ensure she'd be any safer this time. 

"Oh God, oh _God_." Garry slumped against the wall, hands clutching at his head. 

He wished he still had lungs, because then he could hyperventilate and maybe calm down. He craved a smoke and the taste of nicotine, or even a candy so there was something for his teeth to grind. 

He wanted Iden to take care of herself, not just because she was the last one in the real world who had some idea of his actual existence, but because he knew that he might as well as have been the only one who cared about her now that Ib and Mary were gone. She was a kid! Thirteen maybe, but still so young. Like Ib when she stumbled into Guertena's crazy world. Like him before he died in the gallery. She was still so full of life and if she was going to risk that life just to see him he'd rather she not remember him at all. 

"Oh Iden," he breathed through a nervous, agitated, mad sort of laugh. "I wish you could hear me. I wish _so_  badly that you could hear me right now!"

As soon as he said the words, a chill settled over the gallery. Dread seeped into his bones as he felt a shift.

"No. . . _No_!" Garry bolted upright, eyes wilder than ever. " _Stop! I didn't mean_ -!"

But it was too late. 

In the gallery where Iden stood, the lights flickered.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Iden's eyes widened as the lights flickered.

She glanced wildly around herself, but not a soul was to be seen. Ib's story immediately echoed through her mind. This was how it started, wasn't it? With the lights flickering and finding herself alone?

"Garry. . .?" She turned to the _Forgotten Portrait_ only to find Garry was gone. In his place was a painting of a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, a look of terror on his face. That. . .that couldn't be right, could it? But even the name plaque had changed - it now read _The_ _Hanged Man_. She was still staring at it in disbelief when the man's eyes glowed red.

She let out an _"Eep!"_ and stepped back, staring at the painting. Slowly, almost as if he was stretching, the man's arms moved as his body swayed to and fro. His movements slowly increased in speed, and Iden realized he was flailing. His eyes flickered red over and over, like a flashing distress beacon. 

"Do. . .do you want me to help you?" 

His eyes stayed red and he seemed to be trying to nod. Iden touched the canvas, hoping that maybe it would go through and she could snap the rope. But the painting's surface stayed solid despite the moving figure within.

"I'm sorry, I don't know if I can help. . ."

The hanged man's arms stilled and his eyes stopped glowing in defeat. Iden bit her lip and pressed her hand against the painting again. It tapped lightly against the wall. Did that mean it was removable?

"Hang on for a moment," she told him. He raised his little paint- stroke of an eyebrow at her as he crossed his arms. "No pun intended."

Iden gingerly placed Petunia on the ground before holding the frame again. Once she had a decent grip on the painting, she took it off its hook on the wall and began turning it slowly. After turning it upside-down, she placed it on the ground and kneeled down. The little hanged man inside was hanging no longer - he now sat down, stunned.

"Is that better?"

The little man stood at once and gratefully nodded. Iden smiled before remembering where she was.

"Do you uh, know where Garry went?" She asked. "The  _Forgotten Portrait?"_

He pointed behind her to the stairs.

"Downstairs? Ah right, Grandma went into the _Abyss of the Deep_. . ." She gave the tiny man a smile. "Thanks."

He smiled back and waved as his motions stilled. When Iden looked up, the plaque shifted to _The Waving Man_. Well, that didn't really have the same ring to it as _The Hanged Man,_ but he definitely looked much happier.

Iden glanced at the hallway of _Fabricated World_. Odd, Ib had said that the lights had flickered while she looked at that painting, not Garry's. . .

She should be going straight downstairs, she really should, but _surely_  she could take a peek, right? But no sooner did she decide this than did a loud banging sound behind her. She turned in time to see the a blurry figure of a hand retract from beyond the now-marked window nearby.

On second thought, she probably shouldn't stay in this. . .in-between world. . .longer than she should.

THe girl hurried down the steps, and she _almost_ thought she felt a breeze, _almost_ thought she heard a whisper of " _Come, Iden"_ pass by her.

Iden soon found herself standing before the _Abyss of the Deep._ Shades of blue shifted like waves as she stared into it, oddly calming, even as the anglerfish-like creature within grew larger. She hardly realized when she kneeled, when she pressed her hand against the floor painting as if to touch the strange fish. Unlike the painting of the once-hanging man, her hand slipped through quite easily. 

And her arm.

And her shoulder.

And the rest of her.

Slipping, slipping, slipping, through the painted waters. 

She opened her eyes at some point, though she can't remember when she closed them, and saw the great creature looming above her, swimming near as the light atop its head gracefully swayed to and fro, soothing as a night-light through inky black and murky blue that were and weren't wet at the same time.

The next thing Iden knew, she was standing atop a staircase. She blinked, feeling. . .well, not drowsy, but not exactly refreshed by whatever _that_ was. She turned back. The wall behind her was the same shade of blue as the rest of the room (the hallway?), and she warily reached her hand out. It felt cool yet firm and her fingers went right through, slipping, slipping, slipping-

Iden drew her hand back as if she had touched a hot stove. Nope, definitely not going back the way she came, definitely not going back to that feeling of weightlessness and that creature that she was terrified of because it hadn't terrified her.

She hurried down the steps and found a table at the bottom. Or rather three tables all wedged together, which were the first in rows of tables that went on in on to her immediate left and flooded the corridor. Iden set her eyes on the nearest table. On it lay a vase with the most pitiful rose she had ever seen.

Iden gingerly drew the flower out and cupped it in hands. Two dry orange petals, each clinging to the stem for dear life. A chill traveled down her spine as she brushed her finger over one of the petals. She gave a strange smile at its fragility. So this was her rose, huh? What a life.

She carefully stuck it in her coat pocket, wincing a little as a petal was bent too much. Ib had restored her rose with water, right? If so, then Iden had to find some and quick.

~ ~ ~

"She needs water. Why doesn't she have water?"

**The blue area never had water.**

"Why didn't you place a vase there beforehand?"

**You requested to limit her paths and lessen dangers. You said nothing of providing water.**

"Fine, is it still possible to give her some?"

**Yes, but I do not recommend it.**

"And why's that?"

**To add an additional vase would be a matter of finding an empty one and using an _Eternal Blessing_ to fill it. But the fabric of the gallery has already been stretched thin from all the changes, and further manipulation might cause it to tear.**

"What would 'tearing' entail?"

**Certain areas may begin to collapse on themselves due to the strain.**

"That's. . .not good."

**Also, you have expressed a preference for the girl to remain unaware of my presence. If I were to place a vase now, she may see me.**

". . .is there a vase in the next area?"

**No.**

"Drat."

~ ~ ~

The left side was hopelessly blocked, so there was nothing to do but head right. She could see the door down the corridor on that side, so at least she could proceed. Now where was the key?

Iden found it right atop a desk beside the blue door. She lifted the key, then glanced at the door. The exact same shade, the same light geometric carvings if she looked hard enough. It couldn't be this easy, could it? But it slid right into the lock and the door opened with a satisfying _click_. 

Iden was a bit suspicious at the green of the next room, but decided she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Before she'd move on though. . .

Aside from the _The_   _Geometrical Fish_  hanging on the wall and the key, this side of the hallway also had a gray leatherbound book and an inkwell on the table. Iden opened up the book and began flipping the yellowed pages. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. Blank. . .ah, there it was. Her lips curled into small smile.

Right on the top line of the left page, in neat and elegant cursive, read _**Ib, 9**._

Her grandmother had used these things like checkpoints, tracking where she had been by writing her name in every book she had found. Iden smiled as she used the yellow quill to write her own name underneath. 

**_Iden, 13_ **

She had an urge to add _**and Petunia**_  except. . .wait, where _was_ Petunia? Iden dropped the quill and looked around. Where was her bunny? She _had_ brought her. . .hadn't she? She carried Petunia to visit Ib and Mary, then they went to the gallery, then it had changed and. . .and. . . _The Hanged Man._

She had put Petunia down to help the _Hanged Man._

Iden darted back the way she came, but it was gone. The stairs were gone. The _Abyss of the Deep_  was gone. And Petunia. . .

Iden stared at the blue wall sadly. 

"Goodbye, Pet," she murmured.

Then she turned away and left the hall, not looking back.  


End file.
